Talking Contradictions

On a summer afternoon in the capital, the Young Urban Indian happened to be in the company of the Young Jhola Krantikari, at perhaps the only place this could actually happen.

On a DTC bus. Their destinations are same, and for a change, they have taken the same path too.

Excerpts from an unlikely conversation:

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YJK: Do you think we’re shining?

YUI: We?

YJK: Indians. India.

YUI: Well…that’s a good question. On the face of it, we are, aren’t we? In the space of the last sixty years or so, we’ve improved on a lot of our shortcomings. The economy is doing a lot better and is continually on the way up, we have the resources to make ourselves stronger internally and the defence to give ourselves protection from external elements. India, which was yesterday a minnow Asian country, is today all set to become a global powerhouse. In that sense, I would say that we aren’t really shining yet, but are on the right path to do exactly that very soon.

YJK: Stronger internally? The whole country is in deep strife, my friend! There are so many of it parts, be it Kashmir, the North-East or so many others, which want secession, dissatisfied with the power at the centre as well as the state. Ah, and not to mention the menace being caused by the Tamils in the south and the Naxalites in Andhra. You call it strength?

Our defence which you refer to so handsomely also has been proved to be inadequate on many an occasion now. In the last few years, almost every big city here has been the target of Islamic extremism. Delhi, Jaipur, Ahmedabad, Bombay. You call this security?

YUI: You are right in what you say, no doubt. There is a lot going wrong, yes, but there’s a lot going right too. Is any country in the world today free from the threat of terrorism? America isn’t, Britain isn’t. Does that mean that they don’t have it in them to protect themselves properly? Somehow, people like you never seem to look at the positive side of things. Tell me, has India ever been as conspicuous on the global stage as it is now? Leave that aside. Let’s talk about our oldest of all problems. Education. Hasn’t something like the literacy rate risen to almost 3/4ths and is on the way up?

YJK: You talk of education and give me literacy as an example.

YUI: Well, ok, even if you talk about education in the strictest sense, we boast of some of the best schools and universities around the world today. The IIT’s and IIM’s are only examples. As Indians today, we have the power to take our own decisions, to study with, succeed and beat the best in the world. Is that not true?

YJK: Ha! I find your optimism infinitely amusing, I must say. Are you aware that 70% of India still lives in the villages and a greater part of that chunk feels lucky if they complete high school, leave alone ‘competing with the best in the world’.

And yes, by the way, the education you people are receiving, the one which helps you beat the best in the world, isn’t that beautiful a thing, either.

YUI: What do you mean?

YJK: What sort of education is it? What sort of lifestyle is it encouraging? What are the IIT’s and IIM’s, which you speak so highly of, producing? At the end of the day, they all are money-making machines - they take you in as raw material, brainwash and modify you according to their paradigms, stamp their brand name on your foreheads and then let you out in the open to mint money. The primary aim of education, in my view, is to instill in the students the sense of social responsibility. Where is it to be found in today’s urban youth?

YUI: That is just not true. Many of the people I know have made use of whatever skills they have acquired to serve the society in the way best suited to them.

YJK: Yes, they are a few. But how many? Or rather, what percentage does possess this sense of social belonging?

YUI: Well, you can’t have everyone thinking along those lines. Is it necessary for everyone to see himself and society that way?

YJK: I’m not sure whether it’s practically possible but that should at least be the constant effort of education. At present, the people who engage themselves in such activities do so from the weight of their own conscience. At present, the education system does nothing to instill that feeling from the very beginning in every citizen.

YUI: Instill? That’s a strong word, you know. Wouldn’t that be akin to brainwashing – children being told how to think towards the world from day one?

YJK: Maybe, but it would surely help.

YUI: Well, I’m sorry but here, I disagree. The basic aim of education, according to me, is to provide the individual with choice, to give him the opportunity to decide for his own self. Tell me, aren’t engineers, doctors, lawyers, designers servants of society in their own right?

YJK: They are. Very much so. I don’t mean to say everyone has to become a selfless social activist, but that everyone has to give something back, eventually.

YUI: Well, these people do, don’t they?

YJK: Yes, they do. But look at the IIT’s and IIM’s that you just mentioned - the most popularly sought-after institutions in our country, the ones which produce the so-called ‘cream’. Would I be wrong to say that a majority of those who come out of these institutions live a life of social oblivion, perpetually filling their already overflowing pockets, living their executive life with a wife and two children, totally unconcerned with how they could be more helpful? What do they produce at the end of the day – laptops and cell phones? Who uses them? The elite. So you have it here. The elite making products for the elite, in turn making themselves even more elitist! No accountability to the people who are below them, none at all.

YUI: That is what I’m saying. You’re too judgemental. Why can’t you just let them be? That’s the life they choose. What’s wrong what it? And besides, many of the ‘cell phone and laptop’ producing men are students of science, of technology. They are the agents of industrialization. Wasn’t that the ultimate dream of our first prime minister? It is their job to work in its cause. How are they to blame?

And tell me, isn’t science and technology hugely responsible for what we are today? Look at it broadly, look at what it has given us. Without these men you demean, would it be possible to realize all the innumerous possibilities of energy we have today, would it be possible to stay connected with this ever-so-small globalised world that we inhabit, would it be possible to reach out to the remote parts of this huge country that we live in?

Science and Technology are two of the most uncomplicated things on this planet, in the sense that they are unencumbered by opinion, irrationality or politics. They don’t have any scope for such entities. They are truly free and so are their practitioners. If mankind is to progress, they alone provide the right path.

YJK: Well put. But would you be saying that Science and Technology for its own sake is good?

YUI: It has to be, yes. It cannot be fettered. As a corollary to the point I just made, to inhibit their growth is to inhibit the progress of mankind itself.

YJK: It is precisely this kind of capitalist thinking that’s eating away the whole of civilization today, not just our country. Anything working for its own sake is doomed. If human progress is indeed our aim, everything has to work so as to help us attain this goal better.

YUI: But it is! Can’t you see?

YJK: I can. But who are the ones progressing? It is the elitist again. These cell phones and laptops you make in the name of Science and Technology – whom does it benefit? Not the 27-odd percent that still lives below the poverty line. Instead of using your acquired skills to help them get up, you help the ones who are already so better-off. You further increase the ever-growing disparity, in a country where the top ten percent earns ten times more than the bottom ten percent. You breed discontent. You inspire rebellions. And then when they fight back, like the Naxalites did, you call them terrorists.

YUI: Heh. What else would you call men who engage in the indiscriminate killing of women and children? God’s angels?

YJK: Well yes, their methods have been quite disturbing in the past few years and it’s not that I necessarily have sympathy for them, but what I’m saying is that we need to understand the reasons which inspire such outrage. The more you ignore the common man, the more he’ll make his presence felt, and sometimes in the most violent ways.

YUI: So what do you suggest? We stop all technological research?

YJK: No. Don’t stop it. But make it work in a direction where it takes everyone along with it. Make technology help the illiterate get education, provide the poor with the latest health-care facilities, give the economically backward ways in which they can pull themselves out of the rut.

YUI: Sure, why not? But then, all other forms of technological research are useless? Is it?

YJK: Yes, without a doubt. You tell me what all wonders industrialization has provided us with. For a moment, think about the damage it has done too. The ‘progress’ it has brought about – has it made us any happier than we were earlier? Is your Happiness Quotient better than your grandfather’s? Not that such things are measurable, but they are surely quantifiable.

YUI: You aren’t implying that just because humans would remain in the same state of mind irrespective of the luxuries that are at their disposal, we should stop wanting to achieve higher standards of living, are you?

YJK: Why not? If it ain’t broke, why change it? It is change for the sake of change that I protest.

YUI: That’s just stupid. The way you propose wouldn’t see any human development at all. It is the curious in us that drives us to innovate and invent. If we humans just sit around and don’t attempt to see ourselves getting better, it would kill us for sure. Practically, it’s impossible. To stifle the curious in us is to negate the sheer essence of the human spirit, and this, if anything, would inspire unprecedented rebellions. Of an even graver nature than the ones we today have.

YJK: Maybe. But if you think about it, this is the only way we can survive.

YUI: We shall see.

YJK: So we shall.

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They had arrived. And as they now bid goodbye to each other, they knew that they would meet again for many such conversations.

Conversations. Clashes. Collaborations?

P & P

We’ll talk about lovers tonight.

We’ll talk about a couple, but not about Laila-Majnu, not Soni-Mahiwal, not Heer-Ranjha, not Chirkut Lady-Kekda Man, but about a pair whose relationship has transcended the concept of time, a love that can actually boast of being truly, singularly eternal.

We’ll talk about Poetry & Prose.

Yes, we’ll talk about P & P, two entities who differ as matter of principle, by the way of definition, who are said to be two opposite sides of the coin, but who, as a matter of truth, are linked to each other as two inseparable souls, their destinies so intricately intertwined, that, at times, it takes an effort to recognise who’s who, both working for the same purpose, the same end, but through varied means.

Maybe as they are, after all, when one thinks about it, two opposite sides of the same coin.

And why should we talk about them tonight?

Because reality, as they say, is stranger than fiction. Reality, as the name itself declares, is real, and when the real gets into its own, the two lovers cease to exist as two different entities, they cease to exist as two opposites, they combine and mix into each other to an extent that its impossible to determine what is Poetry and what is Prose, everything taking the shape of Poetic Prose or, alternatively, Prosaic Poetry. Call it PP, the order of occurrence of the lovers’ names depending on the observer’s choice.

Because when reality hits you, it hits you in the form of PP, not as the demarcations of Poetry & Prose, which are just, when one thinks about it, products of man’s passion of convenience.

Hmmm. Done. We’ll talk about Poetry & Prose tonight.

In Colour

It’s all in super slow motion. Amir is running, but not too fast, on a brown dry narrow patch of land. On both sides of the path, there are lush green fields – without end, the sun shining majestically above.

He feels like a marathon runner, about to complete his final lap, almost reaching the finishing line, the slow, lazily moving surroundings accentuating the feeling of triumph. Not only this, there are a countless number of people on the boundary of the path as well, held away from Amir by a strong, taut rope, the sort one sees at such races.

And like the races, most of those people look frantic, trying to reach out desperately, extending their hands just to have a touch or grab at the centre of attention – Amir. There are others too, who stand quietly by the side, just watching him pass by. Some look angry and some forlorn, gazing at him through the emptiness in their eyes. He can even see a woman holding a handkerchief in one hand, wiping away her tears. For some reason he doesn’t quite understand, all the faces seem familiar in some way or the other, as if he had personally known these people at some point in history.

But nothing clicks.

Their faces suggest that they might be shouting, shrieking, urging him on. But all is mute. All Amir can hear is the sound of his own breath, the motion of his own muscles, his feet thumping on the ground again and again, the sound too, in super slow motion.

People keep passing by, faces appearing and disappearing in the space of a moment. But the finishing line is nowhere in sight, and the jog continues. Slowly, Amir gets so used to the rhythm of it all – his breath, the movement of his limbs, those familiar but unknown faces – that he doesn’t feel anything anymore. His mind has almost gone numb.

And then he sees his mother in the crowd, standing serenely, looking at him with eyes that tell just one emotion. He sees his father too, and his grandparents, his uncles and aunts, the maid at his village home, the kindergarten ‘best friend’ he had almost forgotten the name of, the first girl he ‘fell in love’ with back in Class 2, his junior school class teacher, the bully who pushed him repeatedly against the wall every morning at school, the person at Mother Dairy from whom he used to take the milk every evening, his father’s friend whose sight he couldn’t stand as a child – everyone! Everyone!

Amir watches perplexed, trying to call out to these people, but no words come out. He tries desperately to say something to them, a Hello maybe, but it’s as if his vocal chords have disappeared. He finally gives up, and instead, waves at them as they wave at him, smiling at them as they smile at him.

It feels as if it would never end, new faces replacing old ones, more and more of them coming from the recent past.

And then, he wakes up. It’s a dream.

He smiles to himself, and gets up from the bed, feeling oddly enlightened.

Bapu

What does one think when he or she says the name ‘Gandhi’ in his mind? How does one see him - as a man, a phenomenon or a myth? Whatever you suppose him to be, how do you approach the entity, how do you make sense of him and his legacy, how do you understand what to do with it, how to put all of it together and even sum it up, if possible?

It is far from easy. Not just for an inexperienced, relatively uneducated youth like me but also, it seems, for people who have spent a lifetime ruminating over him.

The Gandhi Ashram today was not quite its normal, serene self. There was an air of activity around, more people than usual to be seen in the museum, around and inside Gandhi’s kutir, and on the edge of the Sabarmati River, admiring the view.

It was his 60th death anniversary, and there were to be a series of events taking place in his memory, from the morning Prayer to talks by eminent sociologists and Gandhians during the day. I reached the place at around one (thanks to three silly lectures in the morning), long after the Prayer and the first round of talks, missing the opportunity to listen to none other than Ashis Nandy speaking.

Anyway, I was fortunate enough to listen to some other esteemed speakers, including our own professors Tridip Suhrud and Ganesh Devy. Some talked of his relationship with religion and secularism, some of his take on nation-building, and some on counterfactual questions such as how different history would have been, if he had lived 125 years, as he jokingly (or maybe not) said he wanted to. I listened with unwavering attention, trying to grasp and understand as much as I could. And I daresay I followed much of the discussion.

But now, as I try to think of what I learnt from the day, how much it helped me to understand the man, his life and thought, I find myself at loss yet again. As before, when I try to gather my thoughts on him, to sum him up, there is nothing that comes to mind.

All blank.

And why is it so? Perhaps, the biggest reason why he eludes all reason is because Gandhi simply could not be classified. Humans rely on classifications for their understanding. We find it convenient and surer about a person once we see him as a part of something bigger. For example, the labels we put on the friends around us (like ‘Oh he’s a politician’ or ‘Saala nerd hai’) ease our mind, helping us to understand the person, seeing him as what we have defined him as.

In this sense, it is impossible to classify or label Gandhi. What would you call him – a religious thinker, a politician, a social worker, a designer, an educationist? What, if anything, defines him? This is almost beyond me to determine. And until I’ve decided on that, the approach, the man will continue to escape my understanding.

For some time to come anyway!

An Evaluation?

This is a ‘personal’ post. So, kindly bear with me.

When you’re 21, you are used to changing your views as frequently as your clothes. Views about everything, be it people, places, or events are under constant scrutiny sub-consciously, if not consciously. Things that you absolutely deplored as a teenager can be the very things you follow earnestly now, and needless to say, the reverse is also true.

Now that I find my self quite deeply engrossed in the phenomenon of Gandhi, courtesy the course I’ve been offered at my college on his ‘life and thought’, it was rather amusing to go through an article I wrote for the college magazine about two and a half years ago.

Two and a half years is a pretty long time. And for someone as philosophically inconsistent as I regard myself to be, it sure is a pretty long time! Anyway, the article was interestingly titled ‘Gandhi-An Evaluation’ and without being too boastful, I would like to say that I found myself more-or-less correct in my convictions even then.

I’ll leave the reader to make a better judgement.

Gandhi – An Evaluation

Gandhi – never has a name in history evoked so much admiration, yet so much disdain, so much faith, yet so much disbelief, so much love, yet so much hatred ! It is undoubtedly the most researched name in Indian history, yet the man and his thought process to this day remain enigmatic to his own countrymen.

No one would argue about Gandhi’s contribution to the Indian national movement, of which he was undeniably an integral part. His twin ideals of ‘Ahimsa’ and ‘Satyagraha’ formed the pillars of India’s struggle for independence. Gandhi, a man for whom public behaviour was simply an extension of the self can be credited with playing a leading role in the birth and realisation of that something we today call ‘Indian Nationalism’.

Then why, one asks, does he receive so much indignation at the hands of his own folk ? Why does a man who is generally accepted abroad as one of the greatest man to have set foot on this earth get so much disgust in the very own land he served ? Why doesn’t the “Father of the Nation” appeal to India’s youth, as India enters the new millennium?

The answers are quite hard to find. After all, Gandhi was the man who urged people to think about “India’s starving millions”, who gave Harijans their name, who stood for the emancipation of women, who dreamt of a proud and independent India, who in earnest, dedicated his life to public duty and sacrifice.

But Gandhi’s biggest flaw was a product of his ultimate source of inner power – his ego. Gandhi’s tendency to see public life as an extension of his inner self, his inability or simply the disinclination to keep those two separate was his biggest shortcoming.

One can cite various instances to provide proof of his self-obsession. His decision to call off the Non-cooperation movement after the incident in Chauri-Chaura, despite huge protests by the men who had wholeheartedly chosen to support him, gave way to the belief that he placed his own thoughts and beliefs above everyone else. Another example would be his refusal to keep away Bhagat Singh and co. from the gallows, when he was in a strong-enough position with the British to do so. The martyrs could have been saved, but unfortunately, they stood for principles Gandhi fundamentally opposed.

But his detractors often get tempted in taking criticism too far. Gandhi has often been indirectly held responsible for something as gory as the partition. The Muslims claim that Gandhi had a soft corner for Pandit Nehru and wouldn’t let Jinnah, the Muslim representative assume the highest political post in independent India. That, they say, was one of the biggest reasons behind the division which took the lives of millions. Interestingly enough, the Hindus on the other hand feel that he appeased the Muslims too much and often gave in to their “unreasonable demands”. It is not merely a co-incidence that Gandhi was murdered by one of his own religion.

But to understand Gandhi, to admire him, one needs to go beyond these actions to the underlying philosophy. It would be unfair to see him only as the architect of the Indian freedom struggle, as its greatest leader. The real greatness of Gandhi lies in his simplicity of thought, in his application of his “Experiments with Truth”, in his vision of India. Gandhi fought for an India independent, politically and economically. He dreamt of an India free from unemployment, illiteracy and fundamentalism. He envisioned a state without violence and terrorism of any kind. This unshakeable belief that violence bred more violence and it eventually led to the complete moral decay of the society was the foundation his thoughts and actions stood on.

Today, when the world is caught in a grip of hatred and violence, in a world where terrorism has become bigger and better than ever before, can we afford to forget that “half-naked fakir” ? His message, due to its simplicity and straightforward logic is ever-relevant, something that needs to be remembered if the human race hopes to avoid eventual doom.

As General Douglas MacArthur once said, and I quote him – “In the evolution of civilization, if it is to survive, all men cannot fail eventually to adopt his beliefs.”

And let us all hope that we don’t.

Amir

It might be a dream. Only a dream. But Amir can’t be sure.

The figure in front looks real enough. Amir glances at the window. The curtains are drawn and just below them, he can see a thin blue carpet of morning light. It must be around five in the morning.

How was he awake? Nobody woke him up, his parents were asleep in their bedroom upstairs and he was almost sure that there hadn’t been any noise or rattle to break his sleep. Yet, he had woken up, more peacefully than ever before, as if he wasn’t actually asleep, only lying down with his eyes closed.

And then when he looked up, he saw this man, sitting on the corner of his bed, feet down, only his silhouette visible by the light coming from the adjoining dining room. For more than five minutes now, Amir had been looking at this figure, the figure looking at him, both silent. Oddly, Amir felt no great surprise or fear at first sight of the figure, almost as if he expected it to be there, as if he wanted it to be there.

It can’t be a dream.

‘Who are you?’, the figure finally broke the silence. His voice was even, controlled, like a man sure of what he was saying or asking.

‘Who are you?’, Amir asked in reply.

‘That doesn’t answer my question.’

Who was he? For a moment, Amir felt like getting up, switching the lights on, to kill the suspense, but something within urged him not to do so. He wanted to move his legs, his hands, but they seemed to have frozen, unable to move. Or was it he holding them back? He couldn’t be sure.

‘Why do you ask me this question? What is that you want to know?’, Amir asked after this brief moment of hesitation.

‘Just describe yourself.’

It was quite a funny game he was playing here, Amir thought. This might be a dream (can’t really be reality, can it?), and if it was a dream, where was the harm in getting on with it?

‘I am Amir…a nineteen-year old boy…born on the 7th of June, 1985…living in New Delhi right now… with my parents…ummm…thats it.’

‘Be precise.’

‘What do you mean?’

The figure sighed, shuffled a bit in its position, his face fixed on Amir all the time.

‘Are you sure of what you just said?’

‘Well,’ Amir said, half laughing, ‘there is hardly anything to be sure of. I am Amir and I was born in 1985. Is there anything to be wrong about there?’

‘But that isn’t what you said.’

Amir stared back at the figure. What was he exactly getting at? What sort of answer did he want?

‘OK. I am Amir, born into this world on the 7th of June, 1985. Does that satisfy you?’

‘How can you be so sure about the date?’

Now, this was getting silly. Amir began to feel a little irritated, not able to see the point in it all.

‘You don’t think I was there to note down the time and date of my own birth?’, Amir replied, a hint of restlessness very much noticeable, ‘My parents told me that it was in the evening of that day that I first saw this world, and I choose to believe them. Will this do for you?’

‘Tell me what you know. You alone.’

Amir clicked his tongue, tired of this seemingly silly dialogue. What does this man mean when he says ‘You Alone’? Did I know anything straight from my birth, from my mother’s womb, or wherever and whatever I was before that? Isn’t everything I know been told to me by the entities around me, living and non-living? And did I ever have a choice not to believe them and think otherwise?

‘I’m not sure I know exactly what you mean, but if I do, then I’ll just say that if there is anything I know, if there is anything I’m reasonably sure of, it is this – I am called Amir, and I’m living in 2004 A.D.. Saying anything else would be incorrect as per your question, I think.’

‘You answer correctly, my dear friend. Well, almost! Make sure you remember this answer. Remember that there is hardly anything else you can be reasonably sure of, and absolutely nothing else you can be confidently definite about.’

‘I don’t think I understand you.’

‘You will, eventually. Just remember what I’ve told you.’

And then, the figure disappeared, his silhouette dissolving into the air, as if it was never there anyway.

Amir woke up from his mother’s call at around eight in the morning. He could recall the meeting with the mysterious figure with remarkable clarity, but he couldn’t really make up his mind as to whether it happened for real or was it only a dream, a fantasy.

Mr. India

What if when on a walk down the street, you were to meet India - the man? How would you recognize him? What will he look like and what sort of person will he be?

Let’s see.

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Without the shadow of a doubt, he would be a man of huge build, roundabout seven feet tall, conspicuously rising above every other person around. But even for a man so tall, he would look rather smallish, as if the lord above had tried to put too much into that seven feet frame. The muscles on his body would bulge rather awkwardly, almost as if it wasn’t being able to hold them intact anymore, as if the flesh would tear the skin and come out anytime now, as if it was too heavily packed.

The body would not make any sense at all as a whole. It’ll look as if different parts of it had been taken from totally different individuals, and then put together to make one continuous piece. The left hand might be shorter than the right, one part of the body might have a lot more hair than the others, and the legs might be too thin for a man with such bulky arms. To put it in a nutshell, the body would give a rather incongruous look.

Several parts of his body would give the appearance that they don’t actually belong there, that they were striving to cut off from the main, that they wished to be independent. One of the arms or legs might just be hanging precariously, as if it was almost ready to fall off, as if Mr. India was just barely managing to hold on to it. Such complexities would of course be a cause of great worry and even pain for the man. There would a constant wince on his face, he would always look to be in great distress.

As far as his mental framework is concerned, he could be called A Psychiatrist’s Delight. A one-in-a-trillion sort of man. Quite obviously, a person with such unique physical characteristics wouldn’t be completely relaxed in the head. In fact, with such remarkable variety inherent, he would be someone totally confused about his identity, about what he really is. As mentioned before, his mind and body would make no sense as a whole and he would spend hours, days, months, years, and decades trying to give some meaning to it, to find his ‘identity’.

He would also be a man totally clueless about his past. He’ll remember the events alright, and he might take great pride in the victories he’s had over other individuals and feel deep shame over his innumerable defeats, but would not able to pinpoint why things happened as they did. In fact, a closer look would tell you that he is not even interested in learning about that, that he is close to being completely ignorant about himself. Whatever conceptions he has about the past might just be nonsense, something just jumped to without proper thought or reasoning. He might even tell you that he was once called the The Golden Boy by his friends at school, but that might actually be something only his mother called him to make him feel happy. On the other hand, there might be truth in his claim but you would find it rather hard to believe seeing his present state.

As far as the present and future go, he would tell you that his condition is far better than what it was some time ago. He would say that things are getting better for him by the day and people in his neighbourhood have started acknowledging his presence around the place. He would tell you that his financial condition might not be fantastic as of now, but his business is moving in the right direction and things are bound to get rosier. The only thing bothering him is his health, he would say, the unique assortment of body parts, the various components always threatening to slide away.

All in all, he would be a man like no other. One thing that you could say with sureness about him is that he’ll be a singularly kind man, the sort anyone would like to become friends with. He might not be the strongest, or the largest, or the most intelligent person around and he certainly won’t be the richest of them, but he’ll be unique, a subject of envy to his neighbours and of great awe and wonder to everyone else.

As said before, Mr. India would be A Psychiatrist’s Delight. A one-in-a-trillion sort of man.

Surface Extract

A piece of text from Siddhartha Deb’s Surface:

A long time ago, when the world was a far better place than it is now, there was a divine couple, a god and a goddess deeply in love with each other. Their love was so perfect that a quarrel broke out between the two about who loved the other more. Even the court of the gods couldn’t settle the dispute, so the two agreed to put their love to the test by being born in human form. The challenge was to see who recognized the other first. They would have no knowledge of their heavenly past, being in possession of nothing more than average human memories of their human lives.

They are born in different corners of the kingdom of Manipur, she as a princess, he as a commoner. The years of their childhood pass in ignorance of each other, without a single encounter. Then the commoner comes to the court from the village one day, and they meet accidentally in the palace, and they recognize each other in the same instant. Their love is still without imperfection, still equal, but just then a battle breaks out between factions in the court and both are killed in the fighting. The dispute is unresolved.

So they take birth as human beings again, and again, and again, and each time the same thing happens. They meet as adults, recognize each other instantaneously, the kingdom is pitched into a war, and they die in the ensuing battle. People in Manipur believe that when things are very bad in our human world, when it is a time of war, it means that the two are around in human form, slowly drifting towards each other. Each is looking at the other without really knowing it, attracted towards the partner by the force of their divine love, and the terrible battle of our times will coincide with their mutual discovery.

……Their coming together in the human world with death following immediately is a sign of the perfection of their love and how it can’t be contained within the imperfection of our world. But there will be a time when they meet and admit that it is a draw, that they love each other equally, and that there is no more or less for either of them. They will see, they will recognize their love for each other, and they will not die. When that happens and their contest is over, our world will end in the final apocalypse.

Man

Another straight question(s) –

What does it mean to be a man, at this present moment, with millions of millions come and gone before you, and countless yet to come?

What does it mean to be a man, in this age of mechanized power, of industrialization and of machines, where everything is automated and you’re there only to push the button?

What does it mean to be a man, with each one living an independent life, yet being so inevitably dependent on everything and everyone else?

What does it mean to be a man, when you’re an island and a parasite at the same time?

What does it mean to be a man, when you have no answers to any of the questions above?